Unforgiving Punishment: The 62nd Hunger Games
by Xenogamer
Summary: My interpretation of the 62nd Hunger Games. The characters are mostly fictionl and I hope you enjoy this!
1. Unlucky for Two

**Unforgiving Punishment: Take 62 **

**My first fanfiction on the 62nd Hunger Games. *The majority of characters, all of them in this chapter, are fictitonal.* Hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 1: Unlucky for two**

_I see them. The rebels, charging through Panem, with no attempts to hide their fury, fighting off peacekeepers and taking over major locations in each district. Workers from our own lumber industry stop their work and use the very weapons given to them by the Capital to destroy its lapdogs. As I watch, I find myself yelling their names, cheering them on, believing our district could get allies from the other districts and that an actual overthrow would be in order. I continue to chant for the rebels, until footsteps are heard coming through my family home. I hush, but the footsteps persist, right up until they're right beside me... _

"Shanea. Wake up, it's the day of the...well, you know."

My eyes flutter around the room to find there is no TV on with the rebels shown on screen. Nor are there sounds of my people fighting peacekeepers. Slowly I realize my position. And what day it is. I have been dragged helplessly into a day we people of district 7, no all districts, have been dreading and always will. But I won't be alone, for here he is, up early as always, but the easy-going expression has been wiped off, as it's always done on this day, for today is the reaping of the 12 districts. Two of my people, one boy and one girl, cruelly aged between 12 and 18 will be chosen. Not to win a raffle, or to enter an art competition. No nothing as merciful as that. But to fight to the death in an unknown arena on live television to please the people or should I say maggots in the Capital. They call it 'punishment' for supposed crimes committed over 6 decades ago. But that's a load of nonsense to the rest of us, the real victims. Still, I try not to dwell on it too much, and accept my brother's outstretched hand with a small smile.

As he helps me climb out of bed, I brace myself, not wanting to worry my aunt too much. I can't let her know how sick with worry I feel, not like last year's reaping which was a complete disaster. I made my whole family cry with my tears, and it spread through my district like quenched wildfire. I clench my fists together until my brother leaves, before allowing a brief moment of emotions to cross my face. I quickly get dressed in my rags, rags I know the Capitol would never dream of wearing, but I have no choice. I know I can't stay here for long. My aunt calls me from downstairs, probably expecting wails and floods of tears. I can't let her see me like that. It's bad enough I lost my mother, her sister straight after I was born. That must have devastated my aunt. The last thing I want to do is add to her grief. So I quickly make my way downstairs with a stony expression on my face.

The three faces awaiting my arrival are fresh with sorrow and clearly attempting to hide their true emotions. They look at me in concern, but I pretend not to notice as I knock down my breakfast of bread made from tesserae grain and a cup of water. Again, an example of a lifestyle the Capitol wouldn't even think about being part of. I take a few minutes to sit by the fire, warming my body, but not my soul. The first face, my aunt, puts her arm around me, and sits next to me in complete silence. The other face, my brother Guy, is hugging my weeping sister, Lissa , who has broken under the realization that this is possibly the last time me or Guy will be in this house with our family. The Capitol has stolen our children's lives. Just what kind of punishment is this? What have our children got to do with 62 year old rebels? There's no time to think about that now, because the reaping will take place in ten minutes. I'm glad my sister will be out of the reaping for 5 years. But it must hurt for a 7 year old to lose a sibling to the Hunger Games. We each take hands, whisper "Good luck." and make our way to the square, where the reaping will be held.

As usual, the machine guns refuse to keep their aim off us as we stand in our positions. The Capitol must be enjoying seeing who will be entered, not bothered about the fact most of us are children. They will never understand the solemn expressions on our faces as we discover which of us will walk to our deaths. I'm forced to separate from my family at this point; I'm standing in the area for 15 year olds, while my brother is standing in the section 2 years older. I spy my aunt standing with a ghostly expression on her face, for she knows we are both signed up for tesserae. The odds are clearly not in our favour, but for my family's sake I resign to the stone-cold expression on my face, also blocking the cameras from catching yet another quivering girl in the crowd. The crowd falls silent.

The mayor of our district reads out the usual procedure: the history of Panem, of the Dark Days, and how the Capitol decided on the Hunger Games as an annual punishment for the district's rebellion. There's no sign of the mentors. Probably they are lying flat out drunk somewhere. Before long, he is finished, and my eyes widen in alarm, knowing every second could be my last in my home, my brother, too. I know when the reaping will start, because our escort, a woman from the Capitol- it's quite clear to us, what with their strange beauty habits- will come forward and pick a slip of paper at random from each reaping ball, one for the boys and one for the girls. As I recall what's going to happen, I see her now.

A young woman with over-the-top features skips to the balls which hold the names of the possible tributes. Her hands shake with excitement not unlike my sister when my aunt brings home the occasional apple. Her pierced mouth opens and bursts out her usual sentence in her usual manner, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!" She then begins to rummage around in the girl's reaping ball, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears sliding down them. The hush of the crowd is so tense; I feel their held breaths, their arms around family members. The woman reads the name clearly for all to hear.

"Shanea Blighton!"

Shanea Blighton! That name thrashes around my mind, erasing everything else, hoping beyond all hope that name was not mentioned by that woman...until I notice everyone looking at me. A girl my age gives me a gentle nudge to confirm it is me, and that I now have to tread the steps to my near-certain death. Only then do I remember the cameras are fixed on me. I force myself forward until I reach the stage, next to that dreadful woman who cast my life out of my bedroom window. When she asks for volunteers, a sickly amount of snot and tears threatens to go further up my throat. No-one ever volunteers in the districts, unless you count that awful career group of districts who think participating is an honour. When I finally look up, I am not surprised to discover not one person has stepped forward. My death sentence has begun.

My worry shifts onto the male tribute from our district, forcing a choked sound to emerge from me. Thankfully, all attention is on our escort as she has a good rummage through the boy's reaping ball. She swiftly grabs a piece of paper, and reads out the name before I can react.

"Guy Blighton! What a matching pair!"

My heart feels as if it's just about to tear apart and destroy the rest of my organs with it when I hear a gasp as Guy walks on stage. Only Guy is not walking on stage. He's staring in bewilderment at another boy, with paling skin and dark brown eyes, apparently determined by something. The pieces slowly come together in my mind, but it takes my escort to put them together.

"At last we have a volunteer! Give a round of applause for our newest tribute!"

Dead silence. But this allows me to gather my thoughts. Newest tribute..? Then that means this boy...he volunteered to save my brother! I watch in admiration and relief as he takes to the stage and announces his name, which is new to me since we've never met before. Come to think of it, nor did Guy.

"Kenny White."

Kenny White. We shake hands as the anthem plays out. He gives me a small, comforting smile. And all I can think of is how he saved my brother's life, and that I'd like to repay him- whatever it takes.

***Thanks for reading, I'll update this soon with a new chapter. Reviews are much appreciated!***


	2. One Way Journey

***Thanks to those who read my previous chapter! I've finished the second, and hopefully it's better than the first, so...here it is!***

**Chapter 2: One Way Journey**

I've never been good with words. They jam themselves at the wrong moments, turning a comfortable conversation into an awkward one. The most serious conversations tend to drag this disadvantage out of me. But for their sake, I will try to make it sound as if I'm confident I will win the Hunger Games. Give them something to hold onto, for giving up has never been an option in my family. It's the best I can do. But the silent promise I made to Kenny White makes me feel like the biggest liar in all of Panem. There's only one way I can repay him in a situation as limited as this. My mind is made up.

I am seated in a room at the Justice Building, which looks as though it's had a rough past. Probably it was once a place of beauty, a place which would attract tourists, if they were allowed to enter it. But it's clear nobody has spruced it up, not for this occasion, and never the times before either. It portrays sadness for my district, for here I, like the other tributes before me, I will have to say my final goodbyes to those who come: my aunt, brother, sister and maybe friends as well, though I never made many. I'm glad the cameras are off, because the stony expression on my face is rapidly eroding, leaving sadness to fill the gaps. I sink my filthy nails into my hands until the door opens.

My little sister, beautiful and innocent charges into my arms, and I hug her so tightly it hurts, nowhere near as painful as the tears as they are forced to stay confined within me. It's difficult to even speak, which breaks my recent ultimatum so I'm forced to when my aunt wraps her thin arms around us all. "I love you. I love you so much. I...I..." My throat closes at the wrong moment, but my aunt expects this and puts her finger on my lips to quiet me, to tell me nothing needs to be said. At least this means I don't have to lie to them about winning the Games. Guy enters the room and gives me a hug, but his face still shows the shock of having a volunteer. We all sit in silence until a peacekeeper strides through the door, signalling our time has ended, and that I may-no- that I never will see my family again. As they make their way to the door, I whisper one last phrase "Take care of yourselves." meet my sister's eyes, my brother's and finally my aunts' shiny brown eyes. The door closes.

I only notice the rich fabric of the cushion when I wrap my bony arms around it, trembling and sick and barely able to hold my tears in. But then I remember my goal, dying wish even: to protect Kenny White, thus helping him win the Hunger Games. This helps to calm me, for he did save my brother, and by doing so, he is out of the Hunger Games for good. Maybe he'll find a girl, marry even. I'm unsure whether he'll risk having children, not in this situation. But certainly, if it wasn't for Kenny White, this boy I'm certain I've never seen before, I would have lost a brother, a stitch in my tightly woven fabric that is my family.

The slight creak of the door makes me jolt, returning me to my senses. I haven't the courage to look into my visitor's face, so I just focus on the cushion until an elegant hand slips into mine. And that's when I know I'll never be able to avoid this face for long, for this face has created a fabric of its own, a fabric I trust and love too much. "Maria." My mouth opens in shock. Just a week before the reaping, me and Maria had a heated argument, and refused to even look at each-other ever since. Part of me knows it was my fault, but I don't even remember what the argument was about because all I need to know about this woman is that she saved my life.

Her story comes rushing through my mind at once, but Maria knows me only too well. She plants a small kiss on my forehead and looks directly into my eyes, forcing me to focus on those attractive golden irises. She doesn't speak, but what she does do is take something off her silver necklace and attach it to my wooden one. I take a closer look at it. And my eyes widen in shock. It's an amber gem made from tree sap, no _her _amber gem made from tree sap. The one she was given by her husband, a victor, after he died from some incurable disease. I find myself transfixed by this sparkling beauty, but this only erodes my time with Maria. I look up, only to find she's nowhere in sight. This brings a small smile to my lips. "Disappear Maria!" the famous phrase used by all of district 7, turns out to be true.

No others come, which doesn't surprise me as my list of those I care for is pretty short. But now the time has come. Kenny White and I will be forced to travel by train to the Capitol, the place full of riches and people who constantly keep up with crazy fashion styles. They have little to worry about there, as far as I know, for the people there never have to worry about the possibility of watching their children die before them in the worst possible way. From there onwards, we will have interviews (where we're expected to keep from voicing rebellious thoughts) , training along with revealed training scores (If the Gamemakers ever pay attention in there) and chariot rides through the city (mostly wearing humiliating costumes- I saw district 12 tributes wear nothing but coal dust once).

Before I know it, I'm led into a train unlike any of the ones we use for transporting lumber back home. From what I've seen, these are ten times as fast, and being a Capitol train, must surely have some indescribable luxuries too. Kenny White and I take our seats, a little concerned about the fact our mentors still have not made an appearance. I can see it in Kenny's dark eyes, the brief puzzlement. I have to kick myself to look away from them, but thankfully he doesn't notice, for here they are, the male and female victors turned mentors of district eleven. Not much, by the looks of them, which drops the odds of Kenny receiving outside help drop to near zero. Mentors are all we'll have once we're in the arena. I hear Haymitch Abernathy, district 12's only mentor has his hands full keeping his tributes alive, and with good reason. I wonder what this pair will be like, though I have a bad feeling welling up inside just looking at them.

The man, Jonathon, looks completely wasted; you can see it in his hazel, bloodshot eyes, the translucent pale skin which suggests his primary stomach-filler is drink, and in the constant swinging in his arms which refuse to stop. _Poor Kenny_. _It's a sure bet he won't be getting sponsors any time soon. _The female mentor, Shelane, looks a little more promising. She looks strong enough, but I can't help but notice how little attention she's paying to us. It suggests she's too wrapped up in her own thoughts to consider helping us, even once we're in the arena. Those chocolate eyes fix on a spot in the distance, avoiding us. These two clearly lead messy lives. But they're all we'll have, our only source of survival from the real world, and we'll need all the help we can get. I remember my aunt's words "Strength in numbers can overcome even the biggest challenges, whatever life throws at us." And I realize, between the three of us, Kenny will live to see another day.

The train engine rumbles. I find myself peering out of the window, at my home, at the many trees surrounding my district but slowly reside myself to sit back in my seat. We are leaving our homes, our family's, everything we have ever known. Kenny will come back here, I know he will. But for me, this is a one-way journey; there is no going back.

***Again, I appreciate you reading this, and thanks for your continued support. I'll be working on the next chapter, so sorry if you think I take too long. Thanks again!***


	3. A Day on the Death Rails Part 1

***I'm back at school, so these chapters might take longer than usual to complete, Sorry about that, but here's another one. Hope you enjoy it!***

**Chapter 3: A Day on the Death Rails Part 1**

It turns out the train's fancy exterior has an interior that exceeds even our escort's expectations. Never mind the silk of the Justice Building; this Capitol vehicle made for journeys can certainly offer ten times more than that. We each have our own private quarters complete with a bedroom, dressing area and even a private bathroom that runs cold and above all, hot water, a luxury I have never had. Of course, this is all merely a delusion. I tell myself this to make sure I am not blinded by the offers of the Capitol. This is a place to fill our bellies, relax in the surroundings, and enjoy unheard-of luxuries until we reach the rich destination. Then we get killed.

I want to go there immediately, for my privacy is my main source of hunger at the moment. An appetite of freedom, of going home, is impossible. But it turns out that our escort recognised the fact both me and Kenny have no idea who she is, and has decided to call a meeting for a 'formal introduction'. Part of me feels guilty that after over a decade of watching the Hunger Games, I still have not paid attention to the identity of this mad Capitol woman whose fingers curl around an innocent victim trapped in the vicinity. But, of course, she is as I have said, a mad Capitol woman whose fingers curl around an innocent victim. Despite being an adult, she will have a far longer life than 23 of us tributes, circling together, barely of age, and forced to murder.

Murder. The word is just reaching my lips, when I'm forced to clap my hand over them, for I hear my escort knocking on my door. She's saying the 'meeting' will start in 15 minutes or so. I'm struggling even to listen to her words because I'm barely holding back shouts of anger, frustration, and above all, fury, at the Capitol for making such an inhumane system. Briefly, this anger clouds me, but I shrug it off long enough to find a distraction. Eventually I choose what clothes I will wear for the meeting, seeing as I'm entitled to whatever's in the wardrobe. Just the very sight of the contents stuns me into a frozen position, my artic limbs struggling to grasp the soothing warmth of silks, velvets, cotton, materials I cannot even name. I know every second of this trance will go on to irritate my compulsive escort, so I quickly swipe a crimson dress that sweeps across my ankles, dart to the dressing area, and ready myself. I make attempts to keep my face from looking dreary, but it's futile; I have to face this, whatever my condition. Like the Hunger Games.

When I finally find my way to the others, I'm completely blown away by the sight of waiters serving our meal, an indescribably tasty-looking dish, only it's not just this course. At least 3 others are sighted, and suddenly I'm only too aware of how hungry I am. My stomach's growling rumbles in assent as I take my seat at the dining table. Kenny's fidgeting, obviously dying for our escort to finish whatever she has to say so he can eat. After seeing what is on offer, I can't object at all. I notice yet again, our mentors have not made an appearance, and give a barely audible sigh. I decide not to ask of their whereabouts, because I have a good idea of it myself. So I sit in silence until our escort speaks. My head raises and for once my ears are poised to pick up her speech. The next time I will be like this will be in an arena with 23 children, with 1 to protect; not myself.

Her name is Dandelion Weslott, and she is in her late thirties. She likes being called Dandy, so I stick to that. She is pleased to have presented the Hunger Games reapings at district 7 for over a decade...the list rolls on and on in my head, halting abruptly when my mind feels as if it's just about ready to give up. The truth is, I have no interest in this Capitol woman, who feels 'honoured' to present a mandatory TV game show about 24 scared tributes being forced against their will to enter this world of nightmares. Clearly, there is something wrong with her head, or perhaps she has no positive human instincts, with no guilty conscience. Maybe she just needs her head straightening, because the very thought of punishing innocent children for 'crimes' committed over 6 decades ago is simply cruel, unjust, however you call it, _wrong_. I can see Kenny has taken this approach as well, because when Dandy takes a moment to ask the waiter for our supper, he buries his head in his arms. _Hopefully this will be the maximum amount of pressure and tension. At least he'll see his family again. The odds will be easier with one less tribute._

A wonderful smell wafts into the air, sucking out the chemical smells, and replacing them with one of immeasurable goodness. My current thoughts sink into the back of my mind as my magnificent tray of food is placed in front of me. Before Dandy can stop me, my fingers pluck, swipe and grab whatever edible particle is on my plate, and against my will, I'm gorging myself faster than the Capitol train. I barely notice what's going in my mouth, all I know is that is the first time in my life I've been given a full meal, complete with luxuries. Deciphering the food is now impossible, what with the empty plates, but I think I taste cheeses, fruits, meats and some other strange ingredients. I look up to find to Kenny in a similar condition. He's scoffing his food with equal measure, ignoring Dandy's yelps of protest. Who can blame him? He doesn't know he'll get such food after the Games, whereas I am only too aware of my future, but am glad to do what's right.

At last, my mentors make an appearance. Wasted, fighting a whole different battle, but present all the same. I feel Dandy's dignity slip away, overpowered by the sickly green colour of her stuffed tributes, and the reek of wine fumes from her tribute's mentors, who clearly can't set a very good example to others. I watch, fighting my full stomach, as Dandy's own face turns green, her hand shifting to her mouth, twitching for a few moments. Then, in a state of complete disgust, she rockets out of her chair, and flees the room, slamming the door behind her. Still hung-over, Jonathon squints in Dandy's direction, before turning his split attention to us. Shelane gives a moan, apparently too unstable to even focus on me and Kenny, instead shifting her attention to an open wine bottle. Oddly enough, the sight of this pair makes me feel empowered. After all, anyone who can withstand deadly chemicals can find a way to help Kenny White.

With nothing to do, and a recovered Dandy's pestering comments soaring through my eardrums, I find myself in another compartment for the repeats of the reapings across Panem. I sit, Kenny also by my side, as the TV is turned on by Dandy, and brace myself to view the kidnapping of the innocent. District by district they are called/forced onto the stage, young children, newly turned teenagers, people who have done nothing wrong, who have only to blame the Capitol for insisting on such an awful punishment. One or two remain in my mind, but barely anything ever does. The boy from district 4 is openly crying, his knees knobbly and thin, despite the fact he is from 1 of 3 Career districts. The girl from district 5 yawns, bored and unnerved by her calling. Perhaps she is simply over-confident. Then I see myself, shocked and open-mouthed for a brief moment, until that girl nudged me, and my death walk followed. Guy's name is called, but Kenny volunteers immediately. Now I see what I missed. There is no fear or even arrogance in his eyes. He is not happy, yet seems relieved somehow. But why? This cool attitude unnerves me for some reason, but helps me to do something at least. This is how I will be when I make my sacrifice.


	4. A Day on the Death Rails Part 2

***Chapter 3 did take a lot of time up, I know, but as I said, I'm back at school with GCSE exams just round the corner, so...hey. Hope you like this chapter, though. Favs, follows and reviews are much appreciated.***

**Chapter 4: A Day on the Death Rails Part 2**

I am glad when the reaping of district 12 has finished, for the children that appear on screen are beyond my ability to kill. I have no idea who in the right mind would have a conscience clear enough to slaughter these young people. The people in the Capitol might be the lowest form of life on this Earth, but surely, surely if they were left in such a position, they couldn't even consider such a horrific action. If only I could protect them instead of having to kill them...but they cannot be my priority. Only Kenny can. So instead of expressing my feelings of sympathy, I grit my teeth and acknowledge my party with my usual stony expression. Oddly enough, Shelane notices this, and gives me a sympathetic pat on my left shoulder, sending ripples of uncertainty up my body. Can I really place my protection and therefore Kenny's with this haggard old wasteland, who, while she seems to understand my emotions, finds herself fighting her own distant battles instead of ours? Jonathon seems unreachable, though. So at least I know I have someone to understand my goals. Perhaps she even knows what I must do. And how to do it.

I find myself in my compartment, my mind flickering elsewhere. Only now do I realize just how much the people of district 7 cared for me back then. That when they stared at me as I walked down the forest path it was because they noticed the lack of fat on my body. That when they refused to let me eat some scraps the peacekeepers put in the bins for me, it was because they had cruelly filled it with deadly poison that could have proved fatal. They truly cared about me, all along. This makes me smile slightly for the first time since what feels like forever. Of course, one woman remains planted in my mind: Maria. I will never forget what she did for my family, and I know not even Lissa will, either.

It was several years ago, in the dead of winter. Trees were fast dying of some sort of infection, and all of the other plants were frozen up by the ever-increasing layers of snow. As far as we knew, district 7 was in such an inland location that climates like these hardly ever appeared. We were all completely and utterly unprepared for the next few weeks. Food shortages didn't help. In fact, for my family, we found ourselves snowed in and unable to forage for food. We had only what was in our cupboards; barely enough to survive more than three days. No amount of rationing could possibly help us persevere until the weather cleared, so ended up starving to death. The peacekeepers made no attempt to clear the snow, to deliver food to the hungry, which was of no surprise to us. Two days had passed, and a scrawny Lissa had finally broken down in floods of tears; it was clear we could not hold on any longer.

A knock on the door initially alarmed us, for the snow extended far above our wooden door. Our aunt rose slowly off the floor, weak with hunger, and opened the door. A single, weather-beaten woman entered our home with a basket in her hand. She didn't say much, only her name. Maria Cartiss. And then we were all hit with tremendous shock; this was the wife of the famous Oak Cartiss, winner of the 57th Hunger Games. _What's she doing here? _I remember seeing the look on Maria's face as she took in the sight of four starving people, her basket as it dropped to the floor. Seeing us had clearly changed her mind about something. Then, before we knew it, she'd opened up the contents of her basket and extended them to us. We all stared in shock as we took in the list: food, water, medicine, even some luxuries such as soap and money. We never did find out why Maria had decided to come in, but after this event, we thanked her, and she soon became a close family friend. She did save our lives after all. And she taught me the importance of making sacrifices for others. This may not be what she meant, but my sacrifice will be used, to protect Kenny White with all my strength.

A light knock on the door brings me to my senses, clearing these thoughts from my mind for the moment. I hear Dandy's impatient, high-pitched voice telling me to settle down for the night, saying tomorrow will be a "Big, big, big day!" I give a huff. I have no interest in entertaining the people in the Capitol. The thought of visiting their place of origin fills my veins with rage. They have nothing to worry about. As far as they're concerned, the contestants of a lovely sports event will be visiting their city, dress nice and be nice. I know Shelane will be on my case about how to act (if she's not wasted by the time we get there) but if I can, I want to shun these people, hold them accountable for just a moment, just long enough to make them realize how wrong this whole idea is. The Hunger Games is no winners, followed by losers at the end. The rules are simple: if you win, you get bucketloads of money and excused from the reapings from the rest of your life. A great reward for those with barely any money. There's one catch though; if you lose, you are guaranteed certain death. And I will be on this list.

I curl up on my bed, which is silky and smooth compared with the old, rotted sheet I once slept on. I cover my head with the pillow, for I know this will be my last chance outside the Capitol where I will not be tracked down. I let the emotions fill me until they are released with hysterical gasps, streaming tears and a closed throat. This is it. My last night of freedom from the Capitol and it's waiting people. Tomorrow I will end up in the very place which weaves itself in my nightmares, even before it hits me the real place of fear is yet to come. Tomorrow I will be watched from all corners and audience and camera crew sneak my pictures, eagerly preparing us for slaughter. Tomorrow, I will not be able to turn back from my dying ultimatum, which guarantees my death.

***This chapter was shorter than the last ones, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Feedback is much appreciated, so please tell me what you think of it. Thanks for reading!***


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